


That's My Opinion!

by YanaWrites



Series: Vine Meme and Tik Tok Trend Drabbles [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!, ハイパープロジェクション演劇「ハイキュー!!」| Hyper Projection Play "Haikyuu!!" RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Seijoh - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 22:36:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20628665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanaWrites/pseuds/YanaWrites
Summary: Seijoh lost, Oikawa watches nationals pass him by through the screen of his laptop, and Iwaizumi is sent to stop Oikawa from pushing himself to the breaking point.





	That's My Opinion!

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a drabble series I'm doing on my tumblr based on Vines and Tik Tok memes. If you want to check out my blog my username is b00tykawa! 
> 
> This is also my first thing I'm posting on ao3! If you notice any errors, let me know!

Practice. Tournaments. Nationals. Oikawa’s life was a series of goals, of standards to meet and teams to crush. He was supposed to win. He was supposed to be better than this. The ref blew the whistle, twice. Another team rose to victory, and another team lost. Oikawa was sick of loosing. The roar of the crowd cheering felt canned and fake through his laptop’s speakers. Maybe if he was better it could have been him. Celebrating another victory with his team, preparing for a match the next day, Oikawa craved the mundane practices that ate up his free time like they were starving. 

Oikawa slammed the lid of his laptop shut. Every muscle in his body was pulled taught with frustration and grief. God, he needed to blow off some steam. The walk to the gym was short and well-rehearsed. His feet knew the way while his mind reeled. The door was locked, but it was no matter, Coach had given him a key so he could do some extra conditioning after his last injury. Maybe, Oikawa wondered, he wouldn’t have gotten out of shape if had just pushed himself harder. He could have gotten back to the game quicker. Hell, if his form was better he wouldn’t have screwed up his knee in the first place. 

Oikawa barked out a black-coffee laugh, bitter and dark. That was what it all came down to after all, wasn’t it? They wouldn’t have lost if he was better. 

Somehow, moving felt better than standing still. Sending serve after serve over the net made Oikawa feel at ease. Maybe, he wondered, it was because it felt like progress. Even if the season, and, Oikawa realized not for the first time, his high school career were both over there was still college. There might still be after. The ball stung his hand as he slammed it right between two imaginary back row players. After wouldn’t be the same. 

There were lots of ways to cry. Some people were loud, wailing, dribbily messes. Other people were stone-faced and slumped-shouldered, letting tears roll down their cheeks. Oikawa cried by letting tears and sweat become one. Toss, jump, serve. Toss, jump, serve. Toss, jump,  
serve. Tossjumpserve. Tossjumpserve. Tossjump--

“Oi, Shittykawa.” 

Oikawa stumbled, barely brushing the ball with his fingers before it plopped unceremoniously onto his side of the court. “Iwa-chan!” He smiled brightly, wiping his damp face with the hem of his shirt. “Did you come to practice with me?”

“Your mom called.” Iwaizumi said, catching a volleyball Oikawa had lobbed at him. “She was worried.” 

“Spare me the lecture Iwa-chan, I already have parents.”

Iwaizumi made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Every night this week? Really? At the very least buy a gym membership. Coach didn’t give you the key so you could freeload.”

He was right, Oikawa supposed. Coach gave him the key for conditioning, and it was probably time to give it back. But when had logic ever had a place in a good argument. “I’m not freeloading. I’m practicing. There’s a difference.”

For a moment the gym was silent. Or, at the very least, filled with a chorus of crickets and bated breath. 

“Go home, Tooru.” Iwaizumi sighed.

“Oh we’re using given names now, are we?” Oikawa couldn’t keep his voice from rising. “Well then, Hajime, buzz off. It's my life.”

“And you’re ruining it.” Iwaizumi let the ball he was holding drop to the floor. It sounded hollow as it bounced off. “Stand on one leg.” 

It was a command, not a request. Glaring, Oikawa obliged, lifting his foot and stretching out his arms to help him balance. It felt stupid. 

“The other leg.” Iwaizumi scowled. 

“Fuck you.” But Oikawa put his foot down and shifted to the other side. Slowly, and doing his best to keep the wince from showing on his face, he picked up his other leg. “I’m fine.”

“Jump.”

He jumped. Or at the very least he did half a jump. The second his weight came back down on his knee he crumbled, only just catching himself. 

“You’re hurt.” Iwaizumi looked down at him, voice icy. “Go home.”

“Oh, and who died and made you my doctor?” 

“Fine,” Iwaizumi’s voice rang out like a gunshot, loud and echoing in the nearly empty gym. “that's my opinion!”

It was rare that Iwaizumi got angry. Annoyed? Yes. Frustrated? Sure. But never angry. Oikawa had screwed up, big time. Volleyball, nationals, and now Iwaizumi. He opened his mouth to say something, to fix it, but he couldn’t find the words. 

“I care about you, idiot. And I can’t watch you do this.” Iwaizumi knelt down next to Oikawa, pulling him into an entirely too sweaty hug. “I know it hurts.”

It did hurt, Oikawa thought. But not his knee. Something deeper, something integral to his being ached. It was dull, constant, and left him gasping, like the fantom pains of a stolen dream. Tears fell hot and fast, landing first on the freshly waxed gym floor and then on Iwaizumi’s t-shirt as Oikawa buried his face in his shoulder. 

“College,” Oikawa mumbled, “Promise me we’ll always have college.”

Iwaizumi ran his fingers through Oikawa’s hair, “I promise.”


End file.
